WWII Call Prussia
by GreatAuthor96
Summary: It's WWII in the US, and as a radio operator, you get the important job of receiving calls. One man manages to connect with the same radio frequency as yours, all the way in East Prussia, and a very humorous conversation begins.


The time, was Vorld Var II…

I worked as one of the many female radio operators in this crowded building. Suffering from the stifling heat of so many packed in here. Being a relative of one of the men who ran this place, I had a more closed off space from the noise. Somewhere that I can focus much better rather than screw things up like my previous jobs. At least I received a decent pay though, most women didn't due to sexist men. Well I can just consider myself lucky to be here!

There was a crackling sound in my large headphones and I quickly turned some dials on this little box. The red arrow stopped going back and forth to focus on a number, which meant there was a connection with my line and whoever was trying to contact here.

"Hello?" A man asked.

He asked in German. Where I work, if someone speaks in a different language, the radio operator must continue speaking English. If the caller's language doesn't change, one must tell the boss and a translator will come just in case this person was an enemy.

But I knew many languages, and I responded by accident in German as well. "Hi."

"Oh good! I've been trying to reach you FOREVER but the Awesome Me always gets his awesome way."

"What do you want?"

"I'd like to order a pizza."

I face-palmed. This idiot should've contacted an Italian because no one's going to make pizza here. He continued on to say his name, where he lived, which was East Prussia, and what he would like on top of his pizza. Surely he knew he contacted East Prussia's enemy? America! Jeez, men are so stupid…

"And spell out 'AWESOME' with the pepperoni-"

"We don't serve pizza."

This…Gilbert Beilschmidt whined, "So I have to come over and get it?"

"You didn't contact a pizza parlor!"

There was silence.

"Then what do you serve?"

"A punch to your face…" I muttered.

"You know, frau, I like your attitude. Mind if we meet sometime?"

I switched over to the English language, "Go fuck yourself."

(Gilbert's POV)

The Awesome Me smiled after she told me that in English. I am quite fluent in many languages so that I may have an advantage over others who try telling secrets behind my awesome back. Happily I lied back on my bed and adjusted the microphone on my headphones, ready to impress her with my awesomeness.

Easily I spoke in her native language, "I'd like to fuck you instead. So vhere is your location-"

A servant of mine who has been standing beside my bed turned away from the box that enabled me to speak with this American. He smiled, "I can track her if you wish, Master."

"Oh? You can do zhat? Vell zhen, get started!"

"Do what?" The girl demanded.

But my servant was so fast with whatever invention he was fooling around with that I already had her location. "So you're in Washington D.C., eh? I knew I vanted American pizza but now I vant you, frau. 17th street? Which building…Ah, it's the brick one. Mind if I come over?"

"Yes, I do mind," She spat.

"…You must have (eye color) eyes and (hair color) hair. I can tell by zhe sound of your voice un zhis sexy attitude of yours..."

I bet she touched her hair, "You're wrong."

"Say zhat once I find you~"

"Which you won't!"

"Hey, let's make a deal. If I do, you owe me an American-made pizza."

"And if you don't?"

This frau actually believes I won't! Kesesesese! "Trust me, I vill." Calmly I turned over to my servant and motioned for him to leave. Once he did, I tapped the side of my headset, "I nearly forgot to ask! Vhat's your name, frau?"

"That's classified."

"Vell if you believe I von't find you, zhen you have nothing to worry about!"

"…It's _."

Mein gott that's an awesome name! Almost as awesome as the Awesome Me! I whispered her name over and over, as if tattooing it upon my tongue. Damn…I reached down into my awesome pants to grab onto a rising hard-on. "_..." It worked so perfectly to say her name while giving myself an awesome hand-job. I bet she had soft hands that could work a man into insanity…Hah~ Oh dear Fritz I want this frau right here completing the job of pleasure!

She coughed, "What are you doing?"

"Hm? Oh, just thinking about vhat you look like. How you'd feel-DAMN IT, RIGHT HAND, WORK FASTER!" I groaned and arched against my bed, beads of sweat forming on my awesome forehead. _ could do me better than this! "How about we add more to the deal?"

"W-what?"

"J-ja…Nngh! With the pizza, you'll join mein awesomeness on what do you call…Er…A dinner-date! Just you, me, Gilbird, un the pizza."

"NO!"

Gilbird, my awesome little yellow chick tweeted. "Don't worry, she'll comply~"

"There's no point in me going on a dinner-date with my country's enemy! Other than that, I've never met you before! You are some stranger who happened to get on a connection with my-"

I've been listening, truly. This awesomely cute little rant of hers along with my masturbating went hand-on-dick. But it went far enough to bring me to release, "FRITZ! Hah…Hah…Go on, frau~"

_ must be stone-faced after that for it took her a while to respond. Her cheeks might be red too, just like her tits. "You know nothing about me," she said flatly.

"We can fix zhat! Just give me some time to prepare a trip over to America, zhen our little pizza-date can begin!"

"Um…No!"

"Expect me to be zhere once zhis war is over, frau."

(Your POV)

Some years later, I was at my home doing laundry until the doorbell rang. Normally people don't come here unless they want my money or to sell me something ridiculous. "Idiots…" I mumbled.

I set the basket full of clean clothes aside to answer the door. But when I did, I was met by an albino man smiling as if America was better than Great Britain. He leisurely held up some papers, ones that said the employees who worked as a radio operator at the building I used to work at.

"_, you owe me a pizza." Then he tossed the papers and tilted my chin up, "Un a date."


End file.
